


The Curtains Unraveled

by Aureolin_Zestro



Category: Showdown Bandit (Video Game)
Genre: Horror, heavy revisions because by god the story needed them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aureolin_Zestro/pseuds/Aureolin_Zestro
Summary: “These once bright lights that seemed so wondrous now play tricks on my eyes”Join showdown bandit as he wakes up on the stage he remembers so fondly, only to fall deeper and deeper into a world of nightmares as he discovers the things that have happened in his absence.A rewrite of showdown bandits story that places more focus on horror, the central characters, and the world of the abandoned studio/stage
Relationships: None yet eventually maybe, Penny Hemsworth/Lorelei Undertaker
Kudos: 8





	1. The Stage I Once Loved

He remembers the show all too well. And oh so fondly. 

And who wouldn’t? For what a grand time it had been, a wonderful play, in which him and his fellow puppets had been granted life through the adoration and cheering of their audience and the ones who led them along with delicate strings.

And it had all come so naturally, playing the roguish hero, the bandit with the heart of gold, it may have been acted out by his creators but it was as much a part of him as it had been a performance. He fondly recalls, in his deep dreams, the stories, the amazing daring escapes, the villains he had outwitted and the friends he had made on the stage. 

Cheering faces, laughing children, joyous music, amazing escapades. Oh what a wonderful time that had been.

And he has been the star of the show, the cause of all the shouting, all the laughing and all the shrieks of excitement when he performed a new heist or saved the day. It had been magnificent.

He was the Showdown Bandit ! The sharp shooting puppet! The coy and mischievous outlaw who always caused trouble! But always did right by those who deserved it in the end! The sensation, the hit, the breakout puppet show, the one who delighted and entertained an entire generation of children.

In his slumber he remembers quite warmly those days, the beginning, when his creators had just a few pennies and a street side act. And then the pitch to a big investor, the initial success, the continued success! It had been a wild ride and there were times that the bandit had been doubtful they’d stay afloat.

But they had, they’d been a hit, every year they’d been renewed without hesitation and the bandit can’t help but smile in his sleep at the memory of all those advertisements, silly commercials, silly merchandise. 

Thousands of children traveling from across the world to be a part of his live studio audience, their enthusiastic cheering and joyful laughter motivating him to give it his all in his part of the show. 

He had thought it would go on forever. 

He cannot recall anything special about the days leading up to him being laid to rest, perhaps a bit of sadness here and there but on the faces of his creators, and the other ones who orchestrated the show, there had been the same jubilation as always. The sheer passion to entertain.

He had been so, so tired, of all the acting and performing every day. So when they locked him away in his cozy case it seemed natural that The Showdown Bandit had finally been granted a well deserved rest. Which is why he had shut his eyes soon after, content to slumber away the approaching years after a decade of tirelessly spreading joy and wonder to the children he had been created to entertain. 

-

But just as suddenly as he had been whisked away to the dreams of adventure and heroics, the fond fantasies of reenacting his glory days.

Bandit was awoken.

He squints his eyes, not sure what to make of it at first, his warm and comfortable storage case nowhere in sight. It takes a while for him to even realize that not only is he out of his case but he is standing, attached to the strings he had so easily cooperated with so many years ago. 

He feels them tug at him, comforted slightly by their familiar presence. 

Gazing around him with still hazy and fuzzy eyes the bandit soon feels himself able to make out his surroundings. The stage, the stage he had been born on, the stage he had lived most of his life on. Something about it seemed different, however the old timer can not bring it upon himself to identify what has changed. So instead he gazes around tiredly, still groggy from his rude awakening.

Had the show been revived? He realizes the reason he’s having such trouble seeing is that the only source of light is the spotlight blaring down on the stage. Everything else seems covered in a shroud of darkness. 

He only notices them when they begin to whisper, a mass of figures in the seating below the stage. He cannot make them out but he recognizes the sound of children’s whispered words and laughter. He thinks to himself that the show must have been revived then, perhaps a bit abruptly, he wonders why he had not been cleaned up or repaired by his creators before hand, but slowly he feels these doubts ebb away when he hears the familiar announcers voice, and the swelling music that had always signaled the beginning of his show.

“Well look who it is!” The announcer exclaims gleefully, in a saccharine voice that had been refined and rehearsed through many episodes over the years. “The wandering Showdown Bandit has finally returned from his latest adventure! Why don’t you tell us what you were doing all those years bandit?”

Is it just Bandit or does that last part seem more..mean spirited? Bitter? Like a biting remark at himself. He shakes off the feeling as he listens to the voice speak, its slippery and bemused words seeming to rile up the crowd before him. 

“Oh well maybe that’s a story for another time,” the voice moves on after a brief moment of silence “Let's get this show on the road bandit! What escapades do you have for us today? What villains will you wrangle and defeat?”

Bandit feels someone speak through him, not an unusual feeling and one he’s grown so used to over the years, the strings aid him as he moves his limbs to strike a confident pose. “Why I’m off to see Banker!” He exclaims mischievously “I reckon he owes me a favor after I helped him wrangle those crooked outlaws the other week.” 

And so he begins the show, telling jokes, and stories, and playing music all the while basking in the laughter and admiration of the audience below, they ate it up, cheering him on and giving delighted squeals of joy whenever he did something dangerous or narrowly escaped danger. 

He briefly wonders why he hasn’t seen his co stars yet, ah well they were probably waiting backstage. His eyes flit once more to the audience trying to make them out in all the darkness. Once again he can only hear their whispered jokes and amused murmurs.

Something feels Wrong 

He ignores it, so excited to be on the stage again, although he hopes afterwards he can take another long rest as he is still so very tired, but for the sake of spreading joy to his beloved audience he can make the exception. 

His aching limbs and sore joints soon smooth out as he walks from place to place, allowing the puppeteer to direct him and what he says as he gathers his thoughts. 

“Well let's take the journey to ___,” the announcer says, the name having little meaning to the bandit, the places and setting have all blended together after a while. He enthusiastically accepts his role and continues doing as instructed, or rather allowing the one controlling him to call the shots.

After a while though he does begin to wonder why he has yet to see another puppet, oh they talked about him meeting characters and other members of the Showdown Bandit gang, but he never actually..saw them, more just talking to thin air pretending they were in front of him. It does bother him, but the children seem entertained, beginning to cheer and laugh out loud, so he ignores it for now just happy to once again serve a purpose.

-

What he can only assume to be days pass and still the show has not ended, its well beyond even the longest performance he had ever done, a two hour special movie episode, this show had gone far past that. Four days? Weeks? It’s hard to tell the passage of time when all your surroundings are windowless walls and darkness but he can feel the passage of time in his tiredness and exhaustion. However he struggles to keep going, pushing himself as he acts out his part and sings and dances and runs and laughs. 

Still no puppets either, what was taking them so long? 

Over time the laughs begin to feel hollow, not even meeting the unwavering enthusiasm shown by the audience below. An untiring, insatiable audience, that he could never seem to completely satisfy. 

He feels the need to look up, to see how the one puppeteering him could possibly still be able to stay awake after so many days of non stop performing. But for some reason his mind instantly rejects the notion. He instead focuses on his surroundings, for the first time realizing why they seem so different. It’s the same stage yes, the same wooden grain and fuzzy curtains he is familiar with, but they are worn away, dusty, and eaten away at with tears and rot. 

In his startled state he attempts to take a step back, only to find that he cannot move, a terrifying realization as he is immediately tugged along against his will by the one above him, for the first time ever his resistance and whims being overridden by the strings attached to him. He feels the need to scream, to verbally protest this injustice against his autonomy. But finds that he cannot, he feels his limbs jerk again as he is forced to act out another scene, another hollow line, another tired joke.

“I would reckon our bandit can’t handle anymore of this,” The announcer says in a mockingly sage tone of voice “But I suppose he must! After all he’s the one and only Showdown Bandit ! Lets cheer him on shall we kids?”

-

And for the next several days Showdown repeats the same song and dance, eventually reenacting episodes he knows that he has already done several times since waking. Yet he cannot stop, cannot resist the one pulling the strings, and eventually he just gives up trying, allowing himself to be tugged along and puppeteered without any hint of resistance, a dead and worn out look in his once vibrant eyes. 

He limps along, his shoes beginning to show signs of wear as the paint chips away, and he can barely even stay awake.

It is in this sorry state that he finally meets another puppet. 

He really wishes that he hadn’t.

Even in its sorry mangled form showdown doesn’t think he can even remember who the puppet is, maybe a background character? Or maybe they were made especially with the purpose of acting in this new twisted show.

Eventually however, he recognizes the puppet as what used to be Miner Murray, a desiccated husk of the puppet, he talked and spoke to Showdown, but in a jerky freakish way. Like a corpse being puppeteered, the former miners hollow eyes betraying no signs of life as he twists and contorts to the rhythm of the puppet master above. His shaggy mangled beard is filled with dirt and wood chippings, his carved teeth yellowed and contorted into what is probably meant to be a grin. 

Showdown tries to close his eyes, tries not to think about what the Miner had endured to end up in this state. 

“We went through the trouble of finding you a special guest for the show Showdown!” The Announcer exclaimed like a giddy child, “You should say hello!”

And in his tired mania Showdown does, conversing with the jerky thing that had once been Miner Murray. Pretending for a brief moment that everything was ok and normal, that this was just all part of the show.

-

Several more days pass, the Showdown Bandit delirious and barely able to make sense of up and down at this point as the stage props shift yet again, a scene he once remembered quite fondly, the open wilderness, tall grass and crackling campfire, the chirping of crickets. 

And as he tiredly gazes around he can see something that breaks him out of his dazed state, an exposed hole in the stage wall, almost purposefully exposed so that he might see it. He hopelessly thinks that if only he could control his own body he might be able to slip through that hole, into the unknown but away from this maddening stage play he had been thrust into. 

The hole almost seems to taunt him, the darkness within beckoning for him to submerge himself in the horrors that lurked beyond. 

He doesn’t know why but he tugs at the strings holding him, pulling his feet along the floor and almost falling over in excitement as he realizes that when he tries hard enough he can manipulate his own body.

He looks out to the audience and for once they seem to be quiet, but then begin whispering in an annoyed manner “do you think” “maybe” “Perhaps” They whisper before seemingly trying to distract him, trying to lure him back from the back corner of the stage he had painstakingly dragged himself towards.

“Come on showdown” they whine petulantly “Save the day showdown, you can do it showdown” Their forms begin to shift and writhe with agitation as he contemplates them with a sort of disgusted worn out look on his features. 

No, he has had enough of the stage he thinks, tugging himself along, towards the hole, towards whatever place isn’t here. But even though he has some control over himself he is moving too slowly, and he can hear the audience members begin to shuffle in their seats, getting up, beginning to swell at the edge of the stage grasping with their velvety black fingers. 

He curses, pulling along, hearing fingers that aren’t his own scrabbling against the rotted wood of the stage floor, and just when he thinks he won’t be able to leave this place he feels something that isn’t his strings snap, and feels fully in control of his body as he scrambles towards the hole with the speed of a frightened rabbit.

They scramble onto the stage, a flurry of red cloaks and pitch black faces that screech in displeasure and anger as they grasp at him with thin bony fingers, yelling at him to come back, screaming that the show was far from over and that he needed to come back and entertain them.

But despite all their pushing and grabbing they are unable to catch him in time as he finally makes it through the hole in the stage wall, slipping into the backstage area and out of their grasp. He keeps running, expecting them to give chase or tear down the walls in their pursuit but oddly enough they don’t although he doesn’t realize they have given up until he has run deeper and deeper into the old storage spaces and places that he doesn’t even recognize as having ever been a part of the building in the first place. 

Eventually however he stops, leaning up against an empty paint can and some boxes, then he collapses to his knees finally able to sit down for the first time in what seemed like months. His legs ache so badly. 

  
  


He wants to cry, both in exhaustion and triumphant relief. 

-

He mulls over what has happened, not really sure what to make of it and barely even in the right state of mind to even comprehend it all. So many things that don’t make sense, the fact that he is even back here, not pulled back to that dreaded stage by whoever had been puppeteering him in the first place, why was that? Was this just an extension of the show? He hoped not, that’d be too cruel for him to bear.

Take it easy showdown, he tells himself, he closes his eyes briefly, continuing to plan and plot and think. If the others hadn’t followed him back here that must mean one of two things, either he was easily replacable to them, a notion he throws out as soon as he considers it, or something was preventing them from physically getting back here. But that didn’t really make much sense to him either, they were human..right? And humans practically lived in the backstage all those years ago, tinkering away with puppets and paint cans. So he considers the other option, the option that he doesn’t like.

Maybe they were scared to come back here, or maybe something much worse, some worse power, was preventing them from giving pursuit.

He doesn’t think very fondly of that prospect but in that moment he tells himself that anything was better than the maddening tedium of being on that stage. He manages his own sort of grin, a tired smile but a smile nonetheless. He had escaped. 

Forget the stage, forget the audience and the stupid announcer, forget those losers, the Showdown Bandit was on the loose again and there was nothing they could do to stop him. 

He coughs a little, trying to work his voice to form words but finding it difficult at the moment, give it time he thinks, it’ll come to him eventually. The orange haired puppet blinks slowly, taking in his surroundings, the storage area for props and paint and cardboard he thinks, just through here to find the place where he remembers the other puppets being stored. So after a few hours of sitting there in the darkness the Showdown Bandit stands up and shakes off his boots, steeling himself for the long road ahead.

It's dark as pitch and he can barely see several feet in front of him. He can even hear the skittering and scrabbling of feet on wooden floorboards in the distance. But he musters up his courage anyways and begins to walk through that darkness, determined to find the answers he’s looking for. 

He tells himself that despite everything the show must go on after all. 

  
  
  



	2. The Trail of Shadows Part 1

_ It wanders in the darkness, scrabbling and clawing it’s wooden fingers against the dusty grimy floor to pull itself along. It’s dirty woolen hair falling away from its glue stained head in clumps. Fabric once so lovingly taken care of and created with such careful elegance by the humans who had tended to them now barely hung from its skeletal frame in tatters and scraps. _

_ It cannot recall anything, who it was, who they were, who they would have been. All that resides within their muddled head is static and the debris of fractured memories. A soup of thoughts, but even less than thoughts for it can rarely even string them together. Almost if the time it is just...noise. _

_ It tries to open its mouth, to cry out for some relief in the deep darkness it crawled through. But it once again found that it’s jaw didn’t work, it had come off long ago in a fight with another like itself, it frantically claws at the open gap in its lower face, seemingly unable to comprehend the missing appendage and working itself into a hideous frenzy of anger and dismay as its wooden hands scratch and claw at its face in search for something that just wasn’t there. _

_ It had no eyes, they had also fallen out of the dolls sockets long ago but it could see, could still perceive the darkness. And it treated through it with meaningless purpose, wandering without aim or direction, without rest or slowing down. _

_ The only time it stopped was a time such as now, to claw at itself, to scratch the itch within and try to comprehend the deep deep emptiness it felt.  _

_ Were where it’s strings? It wants to wail but alas it could not, were were it’s strings? Why hadn’t them being removed been the end? Even though it cannot remember, cannot feel most things, it can feel pain, a deep aching throbbing pain slightly muffled by the haze of its purposeless mind but always there to torment it. _

_ Were where it’s strings?  _

_ It can hear footsteps from somewhere far off, the tapping of feet slightly too quick to be one of its own. It’s body shivers as it struggles to maneuver itself in a new direction. It must find whoever it was who had joined the show, must find them and beg for help, beg for mercy, beg for anything to give them some sort of purpose in this hollow place. _

_ So it dredges it’s legless termite eaten body along, the eagerness to find one to set it free too promising for it to bear. _

-

Showdown wanders the dark corridors, or at least what constituted as corridors for someone like him, the many stacked paint cans and boxes of props, he wondered why there where still lights on but has to remind himself that the building isn’t uninhabited, with a shiver he thinks of his former captors.

His boots muffle his footsteps as he makes his slow and tedious journey to what he thinks is the work area of the building. And for this he is thankful, for every now and then he can hear things in the darkness beyond, moans, skittering, and the occasional howl of anger and pain. He cannot tell if they were puppets or animals but assumes them to be the latter.

After all he reasoned, puppets where rational folk and in all his years he had never heard such sounds from his fellow country dwellers. 

He thinks back fondly to those days, trying to keep his thoughts entertained as he methodically marches along at his fastest walking pace. But he is careful to keep his mind alert, keeping an open ear and eye for any danger or trouble that might travel his way.

He tries to recall everyone and everything, his mind immediately going to his fellow co stars. 

There had been Banker of course, the no nonsense but ever troubled and beleaguered attendant of the town bank. A rather prone to scream fellow on the stage but off set bandit found him to be a rather pleasant person to be around, a quiet and maybe quick to startle puppet for sure but overall when he chose to speak it was usually something rather insightful or thoughtful.

Then there had been Doc Carver, the stern and serious medic of the town. He had always been rather wise in Bandit’s opinion, but also rather intimidating and so the two rarely talked after hours. Although he admires that the puppet had picked up many techniques for fixing puppets over the years.

There had been Penny of course, and he has to laugh at the thought that Penny had always been like a little sister to him but also was prone to trouble or getting up to no good. Him and the others often had to rescue her whether it be in the story they acted out or whatever trouble she had gotten into off stage. Extremely clever and cunning though, perhaps even as clever as the Undertaker.

Then there was of course Undertaker and Bandit gets rather ponderous when she comes to mind, he thinks she was always the most insightful of them. The most knowledgeable even more so than Doc Carver. He considered her a mentor and friend, although he’s sure she’d laugh if he admitted that openly, she always was a sarcastic one after all. 

He tries to remember someone else, certain he was forgetting one individual, but for whatever reason it just isn’t ringing any bells. So he discards the thought for now.

The five of them where the oldest, there since the beginning of the show, and it had always been the five of them against the world, no matter what. 

He

He wonders if they're ok in all of this. 

-

In his thoughts he has been careless, and later he curses himself for this, being so sentimental and lost in the past that he hadn’t cared to think about the present.

And that’s why he doesn’t notice the puppet until it’s right on him, he doesn’t even know what’s going on at first, his legs pulled out from under him as he thrashes against his unknown assailant.

Through flashes of vision and clambering hands he can make out what used to be a puppet. His shock only lasting for a minute as he wrestles with the thing, struggling against it as it tries to claw at his eyes and clothing with chipped away wooden fingers that now resemble something more like talons.

It’s a stringless, wretched thing, but it is so uncanny for it was clearly once a puppet like him.

Where are Its eyes, where is it’s jaw.

It’s hair is matted and grimy, yellowing and sickeningly stringy. Falling out in clumps and tufts as it’s head shakes back and forth like a wild animal. The paint had nearly all been scraped away from its face, leaving a smattering of red and white streaks across the face of what he assumed to once be a background puppet, maybe one of the farmers' girls. 

But now she wasn’t one of those background puppets, she was trying to kill him.

He knocks her back, in his dazed state noting that she doesn’t even have any strings, not unusual, him and his gang had wandered plenty without their strings after hours. But that detail stands out to him. He doesn’t have time to question this or think any further on it as the puppet slinks back toward him, its legless body still pushing forward with animalistic determination.

He is no coward. But he decides then and there that it would be best to run away, save his fight for when he needs it most.

So he runs, his fleet feet leaving the legless puppet far behind him as he fades into the deeper dark beyond.

-

_ It watches him go, still trying to move the jaw it doesn’t have. _

_ It wants to cry, to shriek for him to come back _

_ ‘Please don’t go’ it wants to wail _

_ ‘you haven’t killed me yet..’ _

_ - _

Showdown slowly tapers off his pace, he could keep running forever if need be but he hasn’t seen anything in pursuit of him since he first took off and after a while he assumes it’s safe again. And, he thinks, his running could attract something worse than what had attacked him.

What had attacked him? His brows furrowed with worry and his thoughts once again became troubled. A puppet..one of his own had attacked him. A immensely concerning thought, they hadn’t even seemed rational, not even capable of speech although that might have been due to the lack of a jaw.

But, he worries, what if there were more of them? More puppets in the darkness that waited to attack him. What if everyone was like that now? 

The thought makes him tremble, his knees shaking as his resolve wavers. However only momentarily as he steels himself once more, his eyes become determined. He can’t let that stop him from finding answers, from figuring out what has happened here.

It is with this in mind that he also remembers he still has his pistol on his hip, a spark of an idea forming in his head as he takes it out with excited hands and examines it for any aging. It’s still as pristine as the first day he got it, and he wonders if it has enough of a shot to actually damage anything still. The creators had adjusted it after he had accidentally knocked off a puppets arm once. 

He stops and aims at a nearby paint can, when it actually cracks a hole in the can and it spews out green paint onto the dusty floor he can barely muffle his own excited cheering. He isn’t completely helpless he thinks to himself, he can defend himself.

But still, he thinks, it’d probably be better to avoid conflict when he could, after all one or two puppets wouldn’t be a problem but a whole horde of them? He shudders at the notion.

With this in mind the puppet continues to travel, in his thoughtfulness not even noticing as the studio begins to warp and slowly shrink down to his scale.

-

Eventually he does notice, that the place known as ‘storage’ isn’t even where he is anymore, and that all the props are out, and that things aren’t so much as shrinking as becoming small enough for him to actually use. But oddly some things like tables and benches remain human sized.

He is so tired from everything that’s happened so far he can’t bring himself to ponder on the change in environment. Hoping that even so if he keeps in the same direction he’ll eventually find other puppets. Hopefully one that won’t attempt to claw his face off.

On the other hand this makes things easier for him, the doors he can now open, although some remain frustratingly locked.

But he tries to keep his spirits high, humming a soft tune to himself as he wanders, not so loud as to attract attention but just enough to keep himself from feeling lonely. 

In the darkness something skitters.

-

  
  


He finds the couple behind an old bookshelf, now small enough for him to move with some level of strain on his shoulders. He isn’t sure why he moved the thing but he thought he saw the faintest line of light peeking from underneath it.

The orange haired puppet reads the note they left behind, sitting beside a crackling fire the couple had made from various pieces of wood and props.

He is almost hesitant to read it, certain that it is most likely not meant for him. But he decides it’d be best to take a look just in case, to see if he could find any answers. 

_ “Dear West”  _ It read

_ “It has been three weeks and still the stringless have not eased up on this area,  _

_ We should have kept moving, or abandoned the supplies and run back to the town, but I was foolish, I thought we could make it _

_ I deeply regret that decision, now because of my stubbornness both Betty and I are trapped here, with dwindling supplies and the sounds of the restless undead outside driving us mad. _

_ This used to be our favorite hiding spot before...before the world we will soon be departing from.  _

_ Betty and I have made the decision together, we know that cutting our own strings may very well bring us back as more stringless, but I trust that if you find this note and us in this flickering tomb that you will do what needs to be done. _

_ please bring back our belongings for us. _

_ Wishing you swift speed and better days. _

_ Cowboy Dave” _

The bandit looks back at the two puppets, huddled up against one another, their tattered strings strewn about the floor around them. They must have been here for months, their bodies dusty and half worn to wood shavings.

He supposed they at least got some peace in death, they hadn’t become one of those things lurking outside. He notes what they had called them, the stringless. He isn’t sure what to make of this either. Before now puppets could always be detached from their strings without harm, they didn’t rely on them for life after all.

But maybe things had changed, maybe in this new world that they wallowed in their strings were now connected to their mortality.

He feels extra wary of any sharp objects nearby when this thought comes to mind. 

He turns back to the couple, a deep sadness welling up inside of him as he takes off his hat, trying to maintain respect for the deceased. He doesn’t think it would be right to just leave them like that, or to leave without honoring their final wish. So he takes their belongings, a watch, a necklace, a ring, and a knife that is still very sharp so he keeps it carefully sheathed in its leather casing.

It still feels wrong, to just leave them there, their bodies lost to the darkness. So he tries his best to tidy up the area, to lay a blanket over their bodies. He half contemplates burning them but reckons that a larger fire would quickly grow out of control in a place like this.

So he just leaves them be. 

_ ‘So there are others like me’  _ he thinks slightly hopeful  _ ‘and a town...so maybe the other four have made it to that place...in which case I’ll have to hurry and make haste, I need to find them’  _ he thinks, he needs to get answers.

But for now he realizes that he is exhausted, he is so tired.

So after shuffling further off into the darkness of the hidden room he throws a blanket over himself and tries to get some sleep, despite the fearful thoughts that whirl through his head.

His dreams are filled with the shouts of stringless and the faint tune of a song he struggles to remember. 

-

_ On the stage the river figures wail and cry out, their pale faces tear streaked at the loss of their entertainment, their beloved showdown bandit. _

_ Why had he left them? Didn’t he know he was their hero?  _

_ Maybe he had forgotten how important he was to them. _

_ The announcer has been quiet ever since the puppet had escaped through the back wall, his tongue and metal mouth quiet and not a sound but the occasional creaking from some far off place interrupts the moaning and howling of the mourning figures. _

_ But just as suddenly as they had begun to holler and bawl they became very still and quiet, their eyes focused on the spotlight with some unknown intent behind those black openings they called eyes. _

_ They could wait, it wasn’t the end, they are sure that in time the Bandit will realize how much he means to them, and then he will come back to the stage for them. And then the show would go on. _

_ So they return to their seats, quietly awaiting the return of their hero. _

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I haven’t written in a long time so please forgive my writing for being a bit rusty! Still getting back into the swing of things.
> 
> Expect future updates! I will continue writing until this is hopefully a completed work


End file.
